


How to Domesticate Your Flatmate

by freezerjerky



Series: How to Date Your Flatmate [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cats, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John's unconventional attempts at domestic bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am. With more of this series. As per usual, non-beta'd and non-Brit-picked.

**1. Taking things a few steps further into coupledom is really terrifying at times. If everything falls apart once you’re past a certain point, it’s the same impact as a full blown divorce. The best suggestion is to ease into these steps. Start small. Small and possibly furry.**

It really all started when John decided they needed a pet.

Procuring a cat was really easy enough. It’s actually shockingly easy to buy a pet, regardless of the half toxic state of your living room or the volatile nature of your flatmate. (This worried John, but he didn’t say anything about.)

                He set up everything the cat could possibly need while Sherlock was out doing God knows what. Cats, it turned out, despite their high maintenance reputations don’t need much. He put a litter tray in the corner of the en-suite bathroom and two food bowls in the most sterile corner of the kitchen. The cat, called for the time being Cat, wasn’t very shy and had no compunction about prowling around every corner of the flat and swatting playfully at John’s feet each time he walked by.

                Sherlock returned in a surprisingly pleasant mood, instantly shedding both coat and scarf and tossing them on the floor. Before he could speak, John called out from the kitchen and told him that “the floor is in fact not where your outerwear belongs.” He leered down to the pile on the floor, possibly intending to glare it into hanging itself up when out of the blue, Cat walked in and decided to settle down on top of the small heap. He scowled as he leaned down and picked Cat, who was aiming to begin a vigorous cleaning session, up by the scruff of his neck and headed to the kitchen.

                “I know for a fact that the flat does not have any infestations on this level so why on earth was this creature settling down on my coat?” Sherlock asked, holding Cat out to John.

                John promptly removed Cat from his partner’s grasp. In return, Cat began to purr in his arms and climbed up on his shoulder.

                “He’s a cat, Sherlock,” John replied. “Hopefully, our cat. I knew if I asked you you’d be like this only worse, and you’ve brought worse things home.”

                “Not living things, John.”

                John raised a brow.

                “Not domesticated living animals that are intended to stay with us for the long-term. Besides, you prefer dogs.”

                “I do, but our lifestyle isn’t exactly practical for owning a dog right now. I’m trying to imagine you taking a dog out to do his business, and it’s really not working.”

                “Why a pet at all?” Sherlock exclaimed, casting a glare at Cat, who was busy rubbing against the back of John’s head.

                “Well I’ve already got one,” John said, crossing his arms. “It’s nice to have something domestic around.  Between the skull and the experiments all over the flat, it’s healthy to have something here to remind us that we’re a normal couple.”

                “I’ve told you countless times that normal is overrated, idiotic even. We are a relatively normal couple, nonetheless, without the domestic animal in our living space.”

                “You take sexy pictures of me for science, most of our dates involve murders, we sleep in the same bed unless you don’t sleep for four days straight, and just last week you accidentally tainted my tea and I ended up spending a Saturday night locked in the bathroom.”

                Something about that seemed to strike a chord with Sherlock, as his face immediately broke out in a devilish grin.

                “What?”

                “This creature-”

                “We’re calling him Cat for now,” John added, lifting the aforementioned creature off his shoulder and placing him on the floor.

                “Cat can stay, at least until he’s too much of a nuisance or eats a human finger, but on the condition that you spend part of this afternoon locked in the bathroom. I find myself in sudden need of a shower, it would seem.”

                “Right, well.”

                They exchanged smiles before mutually heading to the en suite, both casting aside clothing rather carelessly as they go. When they reached their destination John was clad in only his socks and Sherlock was stepping out of his pants. The process had become familiar, but not for lack of pleasure in the process. Sherlock pushed John against the sink, gently, and leaned down to claim his mouth in a heated kiss. That was familiar too, but it only served to make the prospect of future activity more tantalizing. (Shower sex, perhaps rougher than necessary, followed by a leisurely post-coital soak in the tub. John traditionally fell asleep in that situation, and Sherlock relished in being trapped into doing nothing but observe the man lying on top of him.)

                John ducked under Sherlock’s arms, granting him one last peck before leaning over to turn on the water. (For Sherlock it always had to be just the right temperature.) Once it reached the critical temperature, Sherlock stepped in, and beckoned John to follow. However, in the process, his eyes locked on to a pair of yellow eyes near the bathroom floor.

                “Care to explain why you purchased a voyeuristic cat, John?”

                John shook his head and grabbed hold of Cat, holding him away from his body at all costs. (It felt as though there would be something terribly wrong about holding a cat while fully nude and sporting an erection.) The orange creature replied by way of a very cute mew as John tossed him out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. Once you’ve started to make changes in your relationship that seem to be going over moderately well. (Besides the creepy staring cat part, which really depending on the type of person you’re dating isn’t that much of a difference, it’s just two sets of eyes instead of one) think about making some moderately larger changes, even if they are primarily superficial.**




 

“We sleep together most nights anyway,” John began, attempting to bring the subject up for the third day in a row.

                “It seems like a waste if we are paying for two bedrooms to not use one,” Sherlock argued.

                They had collapsed for their case-free evening ritual of watching telly and driving each other mad. Sherlock commandeered the remote immediately and used that power to turn the telly off and instead laid his head in John’s lap, expecting his full attention even for idle massaging of his scalp.

                “You only say that because you enjoy using your room for storage and extra lab space,” John commented. “Really, it’s deplorable, I do have to pass through there to use the loo, you know.”

                “It can’t be too terribly bad. Four of our six most recent sexual encounters have been in my room as opposed to yours.”

                “Which was entirely on purpose. I’m not even asking you to change rooms, I just think we could use my room for something else.”

                “Lab space?”

                “No,” John protested, rather firmly. “It’s not properly set up to be used as a lab and the ventilation there is horrible.”

                “Then we can use my room as a lab.”

                “I’m not walking through that sort of warzone to take my shower in the morning.”

                “What on earth would we use your room for?” Sherlock scowled.

                “We could set it up as an office. You could keep your case notes up there and your disguises and I could have a proper writing space rather than whatever spot is clear on the desk or in the kitchen. And we could get a pull-out sofa for in there and use it as a-”

                “Unless that sentence ends with place to snog during work breaks or place for you to nap so that we can spend as much time as possible together, I don’t really think that will be necessary. The only person who would need to stay here as a guest would be your sister, and then you’d be cross for days.”

                “Then I won’t suggest it. I don’t particularly want her here, either,” John answered.

                “I don’t have any problem with your suggestion, then, so long as you allow me to maintain the kitchen as my lab space.”

                “If you promise to move anything remotely experimental from _our_ room then I’ll agree to it.”

                “I can think of a few things involving that room that are experimental that you wouldn’t be opposed to taking place there.”

                John felt Sherlock’s hand snaking towards him and down and slowly beginning to stroke up and down his calf.

                “You are not,” John stated, “seducing me in an attempt to try to conceal your lack of agreement with this small part of our plan.”

                “I’m not?” Sherlock replied, sitting up.

                He crawled over to John, then over John, straddling him and pinning him to the sofa. He leaned over and bit John’s earlobe, tugging at it gently before kissing his way along John’s jaw.

                “You’ll find I am,” he whispered along John’s jawline.

                “No experiments in the bedroom,” John commanded.

                Sherlock shifted at this, purposely rocking his hips forward ever so slightly and doing that deliberate but maybe not quite so deliberate little moan he had perfected in the last year.

                “A few, if I approve of them, can be in the office.”

                At this, Sherlock smiled and climbed off of John, once again resuming his former position. He flicked on the telly.


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. Keep up the excitement and surprise in your relationship. Chasing criminals through London does not, under any circumstances, count as an exciting relationship. No, when things start to get really serious, remember the fun and exhilarating parts of your relationship. Especially the fun and exhilarating parts that involve sex.**




John hadn’t quite gotten to put the milk in the fridge when Sherlock pounced on him, clad only in pants and a ridiculous plaid dressing gown.

“Christ, let me put this stuff aw-” was all he managed before he found he was being thoroughly snogged against the fridge door.

He attempted to lean down and lay the bags down gently, but Sherlock grabbed his hands and forced the bags out completely and they clattered onto the floor. John attempted to make an angry noise, but it came out as a moan instead, fuelled by the hand that immediately moved behind him to cup his arse and pull him closer.

Sherlock ended the kiss, only to lay a series of kisses along John’s jaw, punctuated by words.

“John,” by his ear, “it has been,” he stopped to nibble on John’s earlobe, “five days.”

“Five?” John replied. “Then let’s get to it.”

He smiled to himself as he pushed his partner’s dressing gown off his shoulders and onto the floor. Sherlock reciprocated by grabbing for John’s belt, quickly undoing with his trousers as quickly as possible. John aided in the process by stepping out of them as they pooled at his ankles. The payment for his help, of course, was Sherlock taking advantage of his movement and spinning them around, pushing him against the table instead.

“Not in the kitchen,” John protested, realizing they weren’t going to leave the room. “I left the door to the flat open.”

“Yes, in the kitchen.”

In a swift motion, Sherlock lifted John, placing him on the edge of the table before lightly pushing him back.

“I have to clean this, alone, each time after we do this.”

“It only takes a few moments to clean a table, really nothing compared to washing sheets. Besides, you’re going to like what I have planned for today.”

John opened his mouth to speak before his words were once again crushed in his mouth by eager lips (and tongue and teeth.) His hands reached out, spanning the bare flesh before him, as Sherlock gripped John’s cardigan, pushing it down until it fell onto the table. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, Sherlock’s hands trailing up and down John’s bare thighs and John sliding his along the expanse of Sherlock’s back, digging his finger nails in whenever the kiss was too heated. Reluctantly, they eventually pulled away when they both felt they had sufficiently staked their claims on each other.

“Take your shirt off and lay down on the table,” Sherlock ordered, leaning down to where his dressing gown had fallen and digging around in one of the pockets.

It didn’t take long for John to comply as his fingers speedily undo his shirt buttons and he hastily tossed the shirt aside. He grabbed the cardigan and bunched it up, leaning down gracefully until his head is gently pillowed on top of it.

“I look absolutely ridiculous right now, don’t I?” John commented.

Within moments, Sherlock climbed up on the table alongside him. There was not much room for the both of them as was, but Sherlock seemed determined to make this work. He leaned over John, kissing his chest gently before he took his right nipple in his mouth and sucked.

“I’m going to ride you,” he mouthed, his mouth still around the pebbled mound of flesh.

In his hand, he held a tube of lube, which he waved in John’s face as he busied himself with kissing along as much of his chest as he can bear and extending his other hand down toward John’s prick.

“We can’t – oh – we can’t get ready if you don’t stop what you’re doing, love.”

“I have you here in the light, flat on your back to explore, it can wait just a few more moments.”

John stilled and attempted to sit up, but was consistently pinned down. It amazed him that there were still a few parts of him that the man with him wanted to, needed to, explore.

“At least let me do some of the touching, then,” he at last said.

“No,” Sherlock replied, his hand sliding John’s pants down his thighs.

The hand continued its work, grabbing John’s cock and giving a few quick tugs. He rocked his hips upward and groaned out his partner’s name. This seemed to be enough for Sherlock, who shimmied his own pants down and grabbed the tube he had entrusted to John. Preparation went by as speedily as they could manage (they had grown so accustomed to each other, how they fit and slid together.) After both were prepared fully, Sherlock straddled John, leaning down to give him a small nearly chase kiss. He then repositioned himself and slowly (more for the effect of teasing than need) penetrated himself on John’s prick. They were still for a few moments once he was fully seated, his own cock neglected between them.

Finally, they started moving. Sherlock rocked up and down, working in tandem with John’s thrusts to create the perfect friction. In no small time, they reached a regular rhythm with just the right frequency of pleasure on Sherlock’s prostate.

“Christ,” John groaned, feeling his orgasm building in his lower stomach.

He reached for Sherlock’s prick and began working it in rhythm with his own movements, creating a perfect tension.

“I’m close, John. God I’m close just a little bit more.”

The feeling of his own impending orgasm forced John into a more erratic rhythm, more aggressive than before, which was enough to send Sherlock over the edge, coming with a loud moan and releasing himself on John’s stomach. The sensation of his arse tightening around John’s cock was enough to send the other man over the edge. John cried out as he came, arching on the flat table.

After his orgasm fully receded, Sherlock climbed off of him, laying on his front beside him.

“Ow, my back and arse,” John moaned, leaning towards Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m too old for this.”

“Your arse?” Sherlock laughed.

“I probably have splinters, the way you flailed around up there.”

“You seemed to enjoy it immensely.”

“It was nice,” John admitted with a smile. “I think we’re due for another round on the bed tonight if my back ever gets back to its normal state.”

Sherlock propped himself up on his arm, extending the other around John to pull him closer.

“We should get married.”

John sat up, startled. That was the second time Sherlock had mentioned the idea.

“Christ, you were serious when you said that on our anniversary?” John asked.

“Yes, and though I hate to repeat myself, I thought it necessary because I’m repeating it now.”

“It’s not on. Really not on.”

John slid his way off the table, instantly reaching for his discarded clothes.

“Come back to bed, er, table. It’s a very reasonable thing to suggest at this stage in our relationship, John.”

“Right, sure. I can’t talk about this right now, Sherlock. I really can’t. I’m going to go out for a bit.”

John beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, washing himself quickly. He returned to the kitchen half dressed with a flannel and helped Sherlock clean himself before he retreated again to finish dressing and eventually make his way out of the flat. All of this was completed without a single word.


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. This one is hard. Even if you’re used to being the sane one in the relationship, the one calling all the shots about the direction it is going, sometimes you have to let the other person bring about a change in the relationship. It can be terrifying if it’s a big thing, a huge thing, a holy crap which of us will be wearing white thing.**




John returned to a surprisingly quiet and dark flat. The kitchen was still a mess, so he set about cleaning it. The milk had to be rid of completely, but some of the groceries were salvageable. He wanted to scream as he scrubbed down the table. They were really both too old to be having sex on that many different surfaces in the flat. Still, Sherlock had gone through the trouble of cleaning off the table for the tryst, he noted as he spied the piles of experiments on the kitchen counter. After making a quick cuppa, he headed to the shower. On his way he spied the pile of limbs and dark hair that was Sherlock apparently fast asleep on the bed and couldn’t help but smile to himself.

                When he finished with his shower, he crawled into bed, a little cold and very nude. He wasn’t actually fond of sleeping without clothes when sex wasn’t involved, but it was a silent message system between them. It could mean a variety of things: “I’m sorry”, “I trust you”, “I want you but you have to initiate”, “I’m okay with feeling vulnerable around you because I love you.” One of those seemed to apply, maybe all of them, but John wasn’t sure which. He pulled himself as close as he could to Sherlock, feeling the other man’s flesh against his own. Gently, he laid a kiss on the nape of Sherlock’s neck.

                “Watson instinct is to go to a pub after a fight,” Sherlock mumbled, apparently less asleep than he appeared. “You went but you didn’t drink much because you felt guilty about it not even really being a fight. Instead, you ran into an old friend and had to take him home because he was completely intoxicated. Before coming into the room, you cleaned up everything in the kitchen, which means you probably thought I was either out or asleep because you always try to fix things emotionally before anything else.”

                “That’s a lot of words for someone who is half asleep.”

                “I’m not half asleep. I’m completely awake. I could use some tea, though.”

                “If I make you a cup of tea will you try to talk this out with me, preferably with minimal pouting and actual adult reasoning.”

                John didn’t wait for the answer as he crawled out of bed. Within a few short minutes he returned with two mugs of tea in hand. He handed one to Sherlock, who had repositioned himself so that he was sitting against the headboard. His own he laid on the night table and sat beside Sherlock, laying his right hand on his thigh.

                “That was just a ploy to see me naked some more,” John teased.

                “I had no ulterior motive in asking for tea, it was just an added bonus. You should always sleep in the nude, it suits you well.”

                “Yeah, well,” John trailed off. “So.”

                A large exhale followed.

                “We’re in a committed long-term monogamous relationship and happily so, which is the basis for the average modern union,” Sherlock began.

                “You know we’re far from normal.”

                “Did you expect my reasons to be normal? We are constantly putting ourselves into dangerous situations and I feel that a legal union between us would promote the optimum safety and happiness. When either of us ends up the hospital, as is wont to happen, we won’t have to worry about waiting until my brother shows up and pulls strings to claim we’re next of kin.”

                “Or sneaking into hospital rooms long after visiting hours.”

                “Furthermore, should an actual tragedy strike, I would like to know that you are guaranteed certain rights you have as my life partner, concerning my own inheritance primarily. Again, it is much easier to guarantee this if we are legally bound to each other.”

                “I’m following this so far,” John replied, nodding. “You want it for the legal benefits, but not the merely superficial ones.”

                “Our relationship has most of the attributes of a marriage or a civil union, rather, save for the technical as is, and I only see benefits in adding these.”

                “I agree, but I think there needs to be a little bit more behind your reasoning than what you’ve explained. It’s a mostly symbolic step, but it’s a big one.”

                Sherlock didn’t reply to this, but instead took John’s right hand in his left. He allowed John the time to process everything, because to speak any more reasons would be redundant sentiment. If John required declarations of love, then the whole venture would be better off forgotten.

                “Oh,” John exclaimed, at length. “Life partner. You’ve considered this a lifetime thing since-”

                “Since I realized you weren’t boring and that I actually desired your friendship. The parameters of what the partnership entails have shifted, and I feel so should our way of illustrating our commitment.”

                “That’s good. I think I’d like to. Just something small, maybe.”

                “I’m not requiring a church full of people witnessing me shoving my tongue down your throat, John. If we could, I’d prefer to just sign a few papers in a room alone, slip rings on each other’s fingers and be done with it.”

                “Just a few witnesses, simple rings, maybe a weekend trip? I’m not wearing a piece of jewellery that says ‘Property of Sherlock Holmes’. Thought I’d get that out of the way now.”

                “Just a gold band so clients and nurses stop flirting with you.”

                “Ah, now the truth comes out.”

                John leaned toward Sherlock and they kissed, their lips moving together with a softness they rarely seemed to possess. They pulled away after a few moments, John settling down on Sherlock’s shoulder.

                “Does that odious feline count as a witness because I’d far prefer him to Mycroft,” Sherlock said, frowning.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.Be careful what changes you do implement in your relationship. When you’re living together, it’s so much easier for them to have strong negative consequences.**




The whole “getting married” business went over rather smoothly. The three witnesses were all properly happy for the couple. (A certain older sibling did spend most of the ceremony making eyes at a certain detective inspector, but that’s another story altogether.) No, it was of course during the honeymoon that everything went to complete shit. Mostly because that weekend happened to be when the most interesting murders in Paris in 20 years occurred. The most alone time the newly-weds seemed to get was a disrupted bath and one sleepy love making session. Which was what led them to their situation.

John writhed and moaned as he attempted to grab hold of the sheets, each thrust from Sherlock pushing him closer to the headboard. They were both covered in the small indentations of love bites and sweat soaked. John was unbearably hard, his cock bobbing vigorously with the movement of his body and the desire to be touched.

“Please, love, touch me,” he cried.

“Not ye-”

Sherlock felt the sensation of something very hairy and very definitely not John brushing along his arse. He stilled completely and when Cat, who had for some reason decided to join them on the bed, started to purr and rub alongside his thighs, he involuntarily went soft.

“Fuck!” John exclaimed as the cat sauntered up to him.

“Not for a while now,” Sherlock answered, glowering at the menace as he pulled out. “He seems entirely too pleased with himself.”

“It sort of reminds me of the situations with all my old girlfriends.”

“Comparing me to this creature,” Sherlock began, throwing himself on the bed alongside John, “and mentioning your women in the same sentence isn’t conducive to having an orgasm in your immediate future.”

“I thought you shut the door.”

“I never shut the door. We just got home and you tore all my clothes off and shoved me into the bedroom, when would I have time to shut the door?”

Cat moved along over their heads and attempted to wedge himself between them, and when he succeeded proceeded to fall asleep.

“Looks like he’s decided we don’t deserve sex because we haven’t worshipped him enough.”

John had previously been considering the pros and cons of asking for help in dealing with his own erection, but the cat between them had successfully killed both the possibility and the need.

“Maybe we’re not so different after all.”

“Really, Sherlock, I’m sorry I bought this damn thing in the first place.”

Cat purred in reply and they both couldn’t help but laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

** 6\. There are some places your relationship will never go, some things as a couple you will never do. You have to set your foot down about what these absolute boundaries these are. Whether it be bungee jumping in only a kilt or switching to decaf tea, it’s pivotal to a healthy relationship for both people involved to know their limits.**




John had settled in for what he hoped was going to be a quiet morning in the office. He wanted to work on his long neglected novel and catch up on some e-mails. Sherlock, surprisingly enough, had silently settled himself in the middle of the floor, sorting through old case files. As John read through an e-mail detailing the life of a university friend (and his two beautiful children), Sherlock turned toward him, giving a sharply appraising look in his direction.

“We could have children if you want,” Sherlock said.

“Wha.”

John turned away from his laptop at lightning speed and looked straight at Sherlock.

“Of course, we physically can’t have children together, but there are other means. You like children, you always smile unconsciously when your receive e-mails with pictures of your friend’s offspring. Your heart especially seems warmed towards children with fair hair and blue eyes, likely out of the superficial similarities to yourself and thoughts of what your genetic offspring would look like.”

“I smile when I look at children because that’s how I’m genetically wired. Most people happen to be very fond of kids in general. I’m also genetically predisposed to have some sort of chemical reaction to you and danger which sort of cancels out any of that fondness.”

“We could adopt, of course, which would appeal to your altruistic side. It would also prevent us from having to deal with offspring in the infant stages. But then again, if you want a child that carries at least one of our genetic traits, we may be better off with a surrogate. We could choose a surrogate based on similar physical characteristics to whichever of us is not the donor in order to increase the chances of a child that looks-”

“You don’t actually want children,” John stated, “because if you wanted kids I would come home to five boys sitting on our sofa and you and your brother interviewing them to weed out which has the most Holmesian intellect.”

“Inconsequential,” Sherlock dismissed this, waving his hand. “You want children that remind you of yourself. In the situation, I would have to agree completely.”

“I think this is one of those conversations where you attempt to talk at me and I try to talk to you and we can’t have that right now, Sherlock. I’m not waking up one morning to a three year old sitting in our kitchen.”

“I don’t see what the problem is. I’m more than fine with exploring the more traditional aspects of married life. You have very strong paternal instincts and would easily make up for where I lack.”

“Christ, I’m coming down there,” John groaned, making his way to the floor besides Sherlock. He took his face in his hands, aligning their eyes. “I am only going to say this once, okay? I do not need to have children.”

“Well of course not,” Sherlock scoffed. “You want to, though.”

“Do you know the life we live right now? The crazy one where we run around this whole fucking city and you’re off solving crimes and we’re together in those gaps, which luckily for me are usually very long? You sulk for days like a child, and I have a horrible temper and walk out of the flat at least once a week and everyone we care about is frequently put in danger by what we do. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but there is no way in hell I would bring an innocent child into this. It’s selfish to do so.”

“But you want-”

“Oi, not done,” John exclaimed. “So yes, part of me very much wants to have a traditional family. Don’t you think for a single moment, though, that I’d want that more than I want what I have right now. I gladly gave up hopes for a normal life long before now and I’ve gone in with eyes open, knowing full well the things I’d have to give up to have what I need the most.”

“You’re crying.”

“Idiot,” John sniffed, burying his face in Sherlock’s shirt.

“I need you too, just to be clear,” Sherlock whispered into his hair.

Though he knew it, this made John smile, but his tears weren’t quelled for a little longer. After a few moments, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the other man and they sat on the floor for some time longer, until the tears were gone and the rest of the morning was spent in exchanging soft kisses.


	7. Chapter 7

**7\. Relationships aren’t always about proving how important they are in big gestures or trying new things. It’s very important to remember that your relationship is about the every day, and you can’t escape that when you’re living with the person you’re with. It just makes it more constant.**

                It was a perfectly average day. John woke to an empty bed, save Cat who had taken over Sherlock’s pillow and was happily purring. John cracked a bleary eye and smiled at him. When he climbed out of bed, he forced the cat off as well. Cat seemed opposed to the idea.

                “Come on, you mongrel,” he scolded. “I need to make the bed and you shouldn’t be up here anyway.”

                It was another part of the morning ritual, the same as fumbling to the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower and walking out to the kitchen in just his dressing gown to make breakfast.  That day breakfast was toast and beans, and as he leaned over to lay a plate down next to where Sherlock was working at the table, he laid a kiss on top of the other man’s still bed-mussed head.

                “You do actually have to comb your hair in the morning, you know,” he commented as he took his own plate out to the living room.

                He read the paper while he ate, listening for the sound of utensils in the kitchen. When he went back to the bedroom to get dressed, he cleared Sherlock’s plate. It was cold and there was only one bite missing from the toast.

                The remainder of the morning was spent in the office, this time both men seated at the couch. John attempted to update his blog while Sherlock attempted to distract him completely by any means possible. Eventually Cat entered the room and attempted to climb into one of Sherlock’s boxes, successfully knocking it down and forcing the other man to actually clean something up for once.

                For lunch they had sandwiches. John only had half of one and Sherlock had one and half of John’s. They talked at the table for a while after lunch, reconnecting after the four day case that they had just concluded. Their feet constantly touched under the table, sliding up calves and battling with each other. John was about to suggest moving to the sofa at the very least when Sherlock received a text from Lestrade.

                The crime scene proved to be nothing more than a simple domestic gone bad.

                “Just because a murder occurring almost interrupted his date tonight it doesn’t mean he has to interrupt my perfectly nice day and make my life more difficult because his team is incompetent,” Sherlock whinged as they slid into a cab.

                “How did you know he has a date tonight?” John asked.

                “He was wearing one of his nicer suits, which he only wears on days he has some event after work, in case he has to go directly from work and doesn’t have the time to change. Plus, he reeked of aftershave. He’s clearly trying to impress, so it must be a relatively new relationship. Judging by the fact that he actually polished his shoes, probably someone he deems out of his league.”

                “Yeah, about that-”

                “Don’t say it, John. I’ve figured it out already quite on my own and I’d prefer it wasn’t said.”

                Sherlock grimaced in the seat beside him and John couldn’t help but laugh.

                Once they arrived safely at home, they headed to the kitchen. John started on dinner while Sherlock continued his experiment from that morning. As John waited for the water to boil, he stood behind Sherlock’s chair, moving his hands to his shoulders and gently rubbing.

                “Sex tonight?” John asked.

                Sherlock hummed his assent as he shrugged John’s hands off his shoulders.

                They had dinner in the living room, where John attempted to coerce Sherlock into talking more about Lestrade’s social life since both people involved were part of his life, but he seemed determined to let the subject go, possibly to attempt to delete it. After they finished, John washed dishes and Sherlock played violin. It felt quiet in all the right ways.

                John joined Sherlock in the living room, listening to him play as Cat curled up in his lap. He felt warm and happy as the music danced about the room and Cat purred in his lap. When Sherlock caught sight of the creature he glared at him and immediately placed the violin on the coffee table. He removed the cat and claimed his rightful place in John’s lap. John just shook his head and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair while Cat retreated to the office for the night.

                “Ready for bed, love?”

                “Not if it means you’re going to stop my scalp massage.”

                “I think I can do a little bit better than that.”

                Most nights when it happened it went just so. John retreated to the bathroom and soon enough peeked back out into the living room, clad in pyjamas and holding a towel. That was enough for Sherlock to follow. As Sherlock stripped down to his pants, John laid the towel in the centre of the bed and dragged one of the pillows to the bottom of the bed.

                They kissed then, Sherlock trying to push John back onto the bed as John laughed against his lips, holding his own despite being on tiptoe. Eventually, he let himself be pushed, and crawled on, and kissed, and bit, and licked.

                “What do you want?” John groaned.

                “Your mouth, until I come then I’d rather like it if-”

                John cut off the rest of the request with an open-mouthed kiss. He sucked on Sherlock’s tongue and at the same time thrust up, grinding his erection against Sherlock’s. They then scrambled apart. Sherlock repositioned himself to the centre of the bed while John moved to grab the lube he had set out on the night table and settled himself between Sherlock’s legs. He placed two kisses under his partner’s knees before descending, taking as much of his prick in his mouth as he could. He pulled away before Sherlock could adjust to the wet heat and licked down the underside and up again, paying attention to the cockhead. He reached to gently pull away the foreskin and licked at the slit before hollowing his cheeks and descending completely again.

                Two long fingered hands reached down to grasp the back of head, twisting as best as they could in his short hair. He hummed as he bobbed up and down, increasing when he began to hear the deep baritone moans above him. His left finger circled Sherlock’s arsehole, rubbing gently in anticipation of future events. By then the moans had gotten louder and higher pitched and Sherlock was thrusting up erratically into his mouth. Sherlock came with a gentle tug to John’s hair as his sufficient warning, and John swallowed his release, save some that dribbled down his chin. He didn’t release Sherlock’s cock until it was fully soft and he watched the other man come down from his orgasm.

                John smiled and rubbed his face against Sherlock’s stomach.

                “That’s not how you dispose of that, John,” Sherlock panted as he reached down his index finger to swipe the semen John had just smeared on his stomach. John softly kissed the fingertip then sucked the digit in, licking away any traces of the substance.

                John leaned back and began preparation. Sherlock’s relaxed state aided in the process, and with minimal prostate stimulation (Sherlock didn’t like too much after he had already came) it was only a short amount of time before they were properly ready.

                “Like this?” John asked as he lifted Sherlock’s legs up to place the pillow underneath the towel.

                The other man replied by rolling over onto his front. John shook his head when he saw a devilish grin looking back at him. He entered his partner in one thrust and began to move when he felt Sherlock’s hips pushing back against his own. It had been days since their last sexual encounter and the lead-up had been enough. It didn’t take long for John to come. He pulled out and rolled over on his back, taking a few moments to enjoy his boneless state before climbing out of bed with a gentle pat on Sherlock’s arm.

                Sherlock watched as he flicked on the bathroom light and heard John moving around to clean himself. John returned with a flannel, which he tossed to Sherlock who grumbled as he leaned up to clean himself.

                “Really John?” Sherlock groaned as he watched John pull his pyjama pants back on. “Someday I will convince you that you need to sleep in the nude every night.”

                “I feel like every time I fall asleep naked I wake up to you doing some study of my cock,” John replied as he pulled the towel off the bed and threw it in a ball on the floor.

                “Only a couple times, John, you’re so dramatic.”

                John curled up in the bed, throwing the pillow off to some far corner of the room and pulling the duvet up over them.

                “Shut up and go to sleep.”

                They had both just drifted off to sleep when Sherlock’s phone went off: a text from Lestrade.

                Yes, John thought as he half fell out of bed, a perfectly average day.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last thing I have planned for the series so far. Not to say I won't return to it, but I have a large fic I'm hoping to work on next, so we'll see.  
> I am up for suggestions for further pieces of advice etc. I quite enjoy writing this series and do hope I can return to it sometime soon.


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